


Unsolicited Advice

by HagSpice



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Never Met, Drabble, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Twyle Week, twyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 23:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HagSpice/pseuds/HagSpice
Summary: Kyle tries to practice for his next piano lesson, but some weirdo in the neighboring practice room won't leave him alone.Twyle Week 2019 Day 2: Enemies to Friends/Lovers





	Unsolicited Advice

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little drabble for Day 2 so I can keep hammering away at days 3, 4 and 5. Just a little scenario that I fell in love with.

Kyle sighed as he glared at the star on his sheet music. That stupid star on the stupid phrase he always miffed, whether he dropped beats or fell out of time completely. He didn’t continue his piano lessons into college just to be given busy work. His professor had a PhD for chrissake! Baroque music was so technical, so boring, and _ dense _. He was desperate for some Debussey or Saint-Saens, anything but Bach. 

This time. This time he’d get it. Starting at the last phrase of the introduction, Kyle jumped in, building steam through the arpeggiated scales to the-

_Tok, tok, tok._

Looking around the room, nothing seemed out of place, he didn’t see anyone through the window in the door of the practice room, nor were there any voices in the hall. Blowing his curls away from his eyes with a huff, Kyle reset himself. As he reached the same troublesome phrase, he heard the knock again. Angrily mashing his hands on the keyboard, Kyle turned around to face the offending wall. Glaring at a seam in the embossed wallpaper, he barked, 

“_What _ is your problem?” 

Silence. Kyle huffed and turned back to the keyboard, feeling foolish for yelling at a phantom noise. It was probably a coincidence; hot water running through the pipes, the radiator, or _ shudder _, some horny couple screwing on the piano. Just as he lifted his hands and poised his foot over the pedals, a scratchy tenor cut through the wall. 

“You’re _ ngh _ late in the third measure of the second phrase, man. It’s an eighth rest, but you’re stretching it into a quarter.” Kyle whirled around on the bench, narrowing his eyes at the wall as if he could shoot lasers out of them. “Also, the turn at the final cadence of the A section is a bit lazy; tighten it up, it’s Bach, not Brahms,” the voice continued. 

Who the hell was this asshole to give him critique? Some coward hiding behind a wall, who probably didn’t even have the chops to play it themselves. His hands began to throb, and Kyle looked down to see his hands in a white-knuckle death grip on the edge of the bench. Ignoring the critic was an option, but the guy had bothered him _ three _ fucking times. Temper flaring, Kyle waved his hand in the air for no one to see. “Then by all means, let’s hear you play it as Bach intended. I’m all ears.” 

Silence. Rolling his eyes, Kyle decided he’d had enough for the afternoon and would come back after dinner to practice; otherwise, he’d lose his temper completely. He grabbed his sheet music and metronome, and began to arrange them in his satchel, only to be interrupted yet again by his squawky critic. 

“No thanks, man. I swore off Bach _ rrgh _ years ago. Won’t go near the stuff.” 

_ What in the everloving fuck is this bullshit? _

Tearing out of his practice room, Kyle approached the adjacent room. He didn’t even bother to knock, instead, wrenching the door open so aggressively that it slammed into the wall. “What. The fuck. Is. Your problem.” he growled. 

A baby grand piano, a bench, and nothing more. Blinking at the empty room, Kyle wondered if this is what insanity felt like, and if one could perceive insanity, would they, by definition, be insane? After several moments of his existential quandary, he noticed a heady, spicy scent in the air. Stepping closer to the piano and peering over the lid, Kyle found a young man lounging on the floor as if he were in his personal lounge. 

The Critic sprawled on his back with his spindly legs stretched up the wall in an odd inversion of sitting. His trousers were messily rolled past his ankles, and his misbuttoned shirt was haphazardly tucked into the waistband. To the side of his face, he casually held a long slender pipe, from which he currently inhaled, his eyes shut in satisfaction. He parted his lips and blew a hazy cloud of smoke into the room, and as he exhaled, his eyes lazily slid open revealing earthy-green irises. Kyle lost himself for a moment, fascinated by the strange green eyes that belonged to an even stranger person.

Without looking at Kyle, he sighed. “If you insist.” 

The young man stood with a bizarre grace, and as he rose, a battered pulp novel and a pocket watch slid off his chest, but through it all, he managed to keep that odd pipe clutched between his teeth. Running a hand through his unruly blond waves and grunted and took a seat at the piano. Kyle frowned, waiting for the punchline of this absurd joke, and the longer he indulged this man, he was certain he was the one being lampooned. 

The Critic took several breaths and launched into the piece Kyle had been practicing, from memory. While staring into Kyle’s eyes, he raised one of his eyebrows during each of the offending measures. The unsolicited critique and the blase attitude were already confounding, but this was a challenge with no clear motivation. Kyle was utterly gobsmacked. For once, he had no retort, no response at the ready. 

When finished, The Critic took a long drag on his pipe, and clutching it between his fingers, he leaned back against the keyboard. Looking Kyle up and down, he shot him a crooked grin. “What’s your name, gingersnap?” 

Smoke streamed from between his lips as he stared at Kyle, waiting for a response. This burnout weirdo pianist just sat there, smoking some strange pipe tobacco in a university practice room and trying to make conversation like they were having tea. Positively fuming, Kyle turned on his heel and left the room. 

Alone in the hall, he paused, forcing himself to breathe. 

The Critic brightened as Kyle stalked into the room, smiling at him from over the keyboard as he set down his paperback novel. He said nothing as Kyle crossed the room, like he already knew Kyle had some prepared speech for him. Steeling himself, Kyle slapped a sticky note onto the piano lid. 

“It’s Kyle.” 

Meeting that pair of fascinating eyes one last time, he turned and bolted out of the room. He didn’t stop, not until he stepped onto the limestone steps in front of the music building. Kyle twisted his fingers in his curls, cursing himself for being such a pathetic idiot. While he groaned and tugged on his hair, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

_ Um hi Kyle. This is Tweek. _

_The guy you almost murdered?_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @hagspice on all the things, come say hi!


End file.
